The Demon's Apprentice (5 page)

Five minutes later, I was in the bathroom with the door locked, under a scalding hot shower. The steaming spray and lots of soap made the stench of smoke, sweat, and black magick run off my skin in black streams. Even though the last wasn't purely physical, the running water grounded it and broke the bonds between it and my body's aura. I stayed under the shower until the hot water turned frigid, then let the cold water run over me for a minute because I could. Mom's thick towels were a lot softer and bigger than the scratchy white ones I was used to using in the boys' gym, and they didn't have “Property of…” stamped on them. For the first time in a long time, I felt clean. At least, on the outside.

My eyes went out of focus, and I cracked my Third Eye open just a little, enough to see my aura reassert itself over my skin. Running water would disrupt an aura temporarily just like it would most energy. While most mages wrote about how vulnerable that left a practitioner, I didn't mind. My aura swirled blood-red and black down my forearm as it re-formed, but just at the leading edge of it, I could see the deep blue of what it would look like without seven years of black-magickal crap smeared all over it. It covered my fingertips, and I let go of my aura sight and got dressed as quickly as I could without getting in front of the mirror. Even fogged up, it could still serve as a window that went both ways, so I preferred not to be naked in front of one. There were things I didn't want anyone to see. Not even me.

Once I was dressed, though, there was no avoiding it. I was behind a threshold, and Mom had made one very strong hearth-hold. I doubted Dulka could see in here, since he didn’t know where I was and he didn’t have a familiar to do his dirty work for him. For the moment, I figured I’d be safe enough. I wiped a circle clear and ran one of Mom's brushes through my hair to get the tangles out. My hair fell down past my shoulders in lazy half-curls that framed my face. Where the rest of my face was a mix of Romany and Greek features, my eyes were all Rom. There was a darkness in them that had nothing to do with my blood, but, like my mother's eyes, there were secrets behind them that even I didn’t dare to delve into sometimes: mysteries held for thousands of years within the soul of my mother’s people. After a moment, I looked away and stepped back from the mirror. Soul-searching wasn't something I needed to be doing. I already knew what I'd find there, and I already knew I didn't much like it.

If the slam of the front door didn't tell me Mom and Deirdre had just gotten home, my little sister's voice made up for it.

“Chance!” she called out from somewhere downstairs.

I barely had time to unlock the bathroom door before she was pounding up the stairs. She caught me in a flying tackle as soon as I opened the door, though I think it was supposed to be a hug. If Mom's hugs were fierce, Deirdre’s were more like a vice.

“Hi, sis,” I groaned. “A little air here? Please?”

She relaxed her affectionate chokehold on my ribs and stepped back. “Sorry, Mom just told me on the way home that you were here and how happy she was that you were home and I finally got to meet you and …” She talked faster and faster as she went until I could barely tell one word from the next until she had to stop for air.

“I'm glad to meet you, too,” I said quickly.

The sound of Mom's footsteps came from the stairwell, and Deirdre looked back over her shoulder, then back at me.

“I had dreams about you sometimes. Don't tell Mom. They made her sad because you were so sad in them. And don't tell me they were just dreams. I mean they
were
dreams, but they were real dreams. Promise not to tell!” she said, and raised her crooked pinky. The words had tumbled out almost as fast as her first barrage, but there was an urgency to this that caught me off guard. I didn't know what the bent pinky meant, but it seemed important to her, so I copied the gesture and raised my own little finger. She snagged it with her own and pulled my hand to her. “Pinky swear!” I couldn't tell if it was a question or a demand.

“Uh, yeah, pinky swear,” I repeated. I felt a small surge, and saw her rock back as her hair fluttered.

“Whoa!” she said softly. “That almost never happens!”

I stared at my little finger in shock. I really needed to be more careful about making binding promises, maybe set a limit or something. No more than two a day.

“You two seem to be getting along,” Mom said from the door. “Get cleaned up, Dee, and I'll make us all some breakfast.” She turned away, and I circled past Dee, tossed my dirty clothes on the bed and headed for the stairs.

“Moooom!” Dee's voice called from the bathroom, “Chance used all the hot water!”

“Oh, dear,” Mom called back from the stairs, “and they're not making any more! I guess it's cold showers for everyone from now on. We'll flog your brother daily for his sins. Just get cleaned up the best you can, honey.” She gestured for me to follow her to the kitchen as she went.

The kitchen felt like what Mom used to describe as The Old Country. Mom had re-painted it, and redone the cabinets, and it just sang of her presence. A rich green paint covered the wall, with leaves and grapes around the doors and windows. The cabinets were stained a dark brown that I figured Mom had worked over for days to get right. One wall held a wire shelving unit that was covered in recipe and herb books, with a potted plant centered on the top-most shelf. The grayish-green, fuzzy leaves and the slightly peppery smell that hit my nose when I crushed a leaf between my fingers told me it was sage. There was a little nook with a table near the back door, and with the sun in the back windows, it was the brightest spot in the room.

I helped with fixing breakfast, if you can call chopping up a few potatoes and watching bacon sizzle in a pan helping. More importantly, I checked Mom's spice rack for possible ingredients. Some of the potions I knew required herbs like sage and basil. If I'd been thinking, I wouldn't have even worried. Mom was a master herbalist; her spice rack looked like an apothecary's wet dream.

When she dished up plates for Dee and me, I forced myself to let Dee go first. It had been a long time since I'd eaten a real meal, and even longer since I’d had Mom's cooking, and it was pure torture to wait. Once I got to the table, I forced myself to eat like I was determined to finish last in an eating contest. I savored each bite, trying to make the moment last and fought the urge to wolf it all down as fast as I could. The bacon's smoky flavor, the spices on the crispy potatoes and how soft and starchy they were on the inside, the slightly salty taste of the egg yolk next to the taste of the egg white. Nothing in the world could have tasted better just then. This was Mom food. It could have tasted like dried crap on asphalt, and I’d have still loved it.

Mom and Dee talked about going to Wal-Mart while I slowly made my way through a second helping. Dee had a collage on her favorite female hero due next week, so today's trip would serve a double purpose. While they talked about who she would do her collage and project on, I took my plate to the sink and started on the dishes. By the time I was done, the kitchen was silent. I folded the washcloth over the partition in the middle of the sink and stepped back to make sure everything was spotless, so…I stopped the line of thought. Beatings for the tiniest things were a thing of the past. I had to remember that. I turned to see Mom looking at me from the doorway.

“Wow, honey. Thank you. You know, you didn’t have to wash all the dishes all by yourself,” she said.

I shrugged. “It’s no big deal. You cooked, I figured this was the least I could do to help.”

“Chance, honey, sit down.” She led me over to the table and waved a hand at the chair across from her.

I felt my heart start to race, and I could barely breathe. I’d done something wrong, I could tell from the way her voice had gone different. My mind raced, trying to figure out what I’d screwed up. Her eyes went to the dishes drying by the sink.

“I don’t know how your father did things at his house, or what it was like there,” she said softly, “but you’re not there anymore, son. You don’t have to try so hard.”

“I’m not…it’s nothing, really, just some…I’m trying Mom,” I said, trying to keep my voice even.

“Honey, this is your home now. You’re not a guest here, and you’re not a servant,” she said gently. “I know your father was all about order and detail, and he had control issues. But I’m not. Don’t worry about doing everything yourself, or how to make me happy. Just bringing you back home made me the happiest mother in the world.”

My shoulders unclenched a little, but I still didn’t dare to hope too much yet.

“So, I didn’t f…uh, screw up?” I asked, my eyes threatening to water up.

“No, honey, you’re doing fine, more than fine,” Mom smiled at me. She took my hand in hers and patted it. “Just relax a little, don’t worry so much about doing everything right. You can even be a little messy sometimes. I sort of expect it.”

“You do?” That was a surprise!

“It’s a mom thing. If I don’t clean up behind you sometimes, I don’t have anything to nag you about.”

“So, I should leave my socks on the floor sometimes?” She laughed at that, and I guess my face showed something of how confused I was.

“I guess I forget sometimes how different things can be outside my own little world,” she said gently. “I’ll make a deal with you…”

“No, Mom,” I interrupted. “No deals. I don’t make deals, not with you or Dee, at least. Just tell me what you want; there doesn’t have to be any trade.” I was through trading favors. I’d do anything for Mom or Dee, and I wouldn’t ask for anything in return. I'd done too much of that for Dulka.

“Okay. No deals. You can leave your socks on the floor sometimes if you want. And no more doing everything on your own. We share the chores, okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed.

Chapter 5

~ To know, to will, to dare, to keep silent. ~

Eliphas Levi, 19
th
century mage

I woke up to the touch of Daddy's hand on my shoulder. The house was quiet and dark. Batman crouched over blue numbers on the clock showing it was 12:01. Dad put a finger to his lips and smiled.

“What's going on, Daddy?” One fist scrubbed sleep out of my eye, and I yawned wide and long.

“Happy birthday sport!” he whispered. “I've got a surprise for you.”

“But…my birthday's tomorrow. We're going to Chuck E. Cheese, 'member?” I sat up in the bed and looked at Dad in confusion.

He put his hand out, and I took it without thinking. With a gentle tug, he pulled me out of my bed and to my feet. He handed me a robe to put on, and it looked like the one he had on. “I know, son. But this is a special surprise. Just between you and me. You're a big boy now, and there's something special that we have to do to commemorate your coming of age.”

My little hand was so small in his, and I felt safe as he led me out of my room toward his office, which he'd converted from the garage last year. It was the only part of the house I wasn't allowed into. Even Mom stayed out of it.

His business partner, Konstantin Suliakos, was standing beside the door in a long robe. He gave me a weak smile before he spoke to my father in Greek. “It's to be the boy, then?” He gave me another look, then turned away.

“You've already given him yours,” my dad replied with a laugh in his voice. “I'd hate to do the same thing you did. Besides, it does go a little deeper, yes?”

“Is this like one of Mom's Romany things?” I asked him. He made a little noise that sounded rude.

“This is a Greek ceremony,” Dad said, and nodded to Konstantin. They both put their hoods up to cover their faces before Konstnatin turned and opened the door.

Dad crouched beside me and put my hood up, too. “You have to be very brave, son, and very quiet. This might seem a little scary, but I promise you, everything will be just fine. It's just part of growing up, is all.” I nodded and tried to be as serious and grown up as I could. We walked through the door together, and into darkness.

“
Ignus
!” Konstantin said, and suddenly, candles lit all by themselves in a circle. Strange designs were laid out on the floor, and my Dad led me to one small circle and let go of my hand once I was inside it. He handed me a stick of burning incense. The purple smoke was sickly sweet in my nose.

“Hold this, son, and don't leave this circle, no matter what you think you see,” he told me. “It's all part of your ceremony.” I looked up at him and nodded with every drop of seven-year-old dignity I could muster. He stepped away from me, and a moment, later, I heard his voice nearby. He chanted in some language I didn't understand. Truthfully, I didn't want to understand it. It sounded ugly, and it hurt my ears just to listen to it. But this was part of being a big boy, so I stood still and listened as my dad and his partner chanted. The skin on my arms rose in goose bumps as a cold tingle washed over me, and I suppressed a shudder as the world went a little blurry around me. The chant started to repeat, and then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something flicker in the middle of the big circle. Whatever was there, it felt very
wrong
. My first urge was to run like hell. The best I could manage, though, was to not look.

The smoke from the incense stick seemed to be thicker, now, and I was starting to feel a little dizzy. Another flicker in the center of the circle distracted me, even as I tried hard to look away from it. Then, it flickered rapidly and suddenly, there was something standing in the middle of the big circle. Terror swelled up inside me, and it was all I could do to keep from screaming. But Dad had said it would be all right, no matter what I thought I saw. Whatever it was…wasn't real. My brain clung to that thought desperately. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It became a chant of its own.

Then the thing inside the circle spoke.

“You summon me at your peril, mortals,” it said in a voice that reminded me of car wrecks and people screaming. “I am Dulka, Baron of the four hundred twenty second ring of the Abyss, commander of six legions of the Damned. For five thousand years have I dwelt in comfort in my palaces. Who dares violate my person, and summon me to this putrid dung heap of a world?”

“I am Stavros Fortunato, demon, and we two have an accord,” my dad said boldly.

“I am Konstantin Suliakos, demon, and we two have an accord,” his partner said.

“Neglect your duties to us at your peril,” Dad said.

“Ah, forgive me, my mortal co-conspirators,” the thing in the circle said. Its voice became less harsh, and sounded almost sincere. “I did not recognize you. There is a new soul here tonight, and I was confused. To what end have you allowed me the pleasure of once again basking in your presence?”

“We call you here to complete our compact, and make permanent our agreement,” Konstantin said.

“Our agreement has already been finalized, Konstantin,” Dulka said. I forced my eyes to look at the creature, and saw twelve feet of black-skinned, ram-horned demon in all its naked glory. How could something so ugly sound so…polite? I saw it turn red eyes from Konstantin to my father.

“But your agreement with me has yet to become so consummated,” my father said.

“Yes, you speak correctly, Stavros Fortunato. There was the matter of a betrayal. But you wished to keep your soul until your death. And as I recall, you offered me another in its place.” The demon looked from my father to his friend, who was giving him a wide-eyed look of his own.

“My son,” my father said, and gestured to me. “I offer him to you as my price, until death claims my body.” The demon turned and looked at me. Its eyes bored into me, and I found myself taking a step back.

“You offer me his soul, as your act of betrayal, and as a boon to keep your own soul intact,” it said thoughtfully. It took two steps on cloven hooves, and stared down at me.

For all that I wanted to run, my legs felt like they weighed a thousand pounds. This had to be a test, I thought. My Dad would never give me to a demon. He loved me more than anything in the world. He told me that every day.

“I do,” Dad said, and something in me started to break.

“Dad, please, it's a test, right? You're not really gonna give me to it, are you?” I turned to look at Dad, to find someone I could trust here: someone,
anyone
that wasn't Dulka.

Konstantin was grinning beside my father, and my father's eyes were on the demon, hopeful and expectant. He wasn't even listening to me.

“An apprentice would be useful,” Dulka said thoughtfully. “I have a counter-proposal, Stavros Fortunato. I will allow you your soul until you die if you give me the boy, alive, for my own use. I will accept in his stead as your blood betrayal…the blood of Konstantin Suliakos.” My eyes went wide and my stomach dropped to my toes as my father grinned.

“Done!” he cried.

Konstantin turned to face him, and flinched. Then, my father stepped forward, and I saw something sticking out of Konstantin's back. Something dark and wet glistened in the candlelight, and Konstantin slumped to his knees. He raised one hand, and I saw something dark and red drip from his fingers. My father stepped back as his partner gasped something, then fell forward. Then his eyes fell on me.

“Our agreement is complete, then. I'll take possession of the boy now,” the demon said.

“Be a good boy, and go with your new owner,” Dad told me.

“Daddy, no!” I screamed and tried to run to him. I hit some invisible wall and bounced off to fall on my backside.

“He's all yours,” the man I once called Dad said.

I felt a shift of some kind, and I knew that the barrier was gone. I heard the heavy thump of a cloven hoof hitting the floor, and turned to look at the demon. It was reaching for me as it came closer. I ran to one side, screaming for my father. The demon's leg kicked my feet out from under me, and I hit the ground face first. I went to get up, and something slammed into the back of my left calf. There was a cracking sound, and I couldn't feel my leg for a moment. Then the pain slammed into me, and I screamed. A heavy weight landed on my right leg, and this time, I felt the bones break as the demon put all his weight on it.

“Daddy, please! Help me! Please, don't let it get me!” I tried to crawl to him.

He looked down at me. “Not everything is about you, you selfish little brat,” he sneered, then he smiled and turned his back. “I'll be back in the morning,” he said over his shoulder. “I expect the divorce to go my way.”

“Oh, it will, never fear,” the demon said as I felt it wrap its hand around my neck and pick me up. Its other hand grabbed my right arm and slowly began to squeeze. “Now, it's time you learned to behave yourself. Oh, stop your squealing, boy, it's just a few broken bones and damaged muscle tissue. By morning, I'll have your arms and legs working like new again. On second thought, scream all you like. I might as well have a little fun before I start training you. Now, the bones you're about to hear break are called the radius and the ulna. Let's see which one goes first…”

I hit the floor to the sounds of my own cries. It was dark, and I didn't know where I was. My first thought was that Dulka had somehow caught me. My right arm flung the heavy blanket off me and came to my feet as I heard the door open. The sound gave me a target, and I drew my fist back as I took a step toward it. Light hit my eyes, and I stopped my punch as Mom's startled face registered on my brain.

“Oh God!” she shrieked. My eyes focused against the light, and I saw her with her arm raised to cover her face.

I took a step back and lowered my hand. “Sorry, Mom,” I said, panting.

“Chance, honey, are you all right? You were screaming. What's wrong?” Mom's gentle hands fell on one shoulder and on my cheek.

“Bad dream. That's all. New bed, I got confused.” The words were coming out all jumbled.

She guided me back to the bed and sat me down, and I was too confused to do anything else. The pain I remembered in the nightmare was still fresh in my head, and I was having a hard time holding off a panic attack. Dulka had used illusions before to trick me into giving things away, and some part of my head wasn't convinced this was real. Every illusion had flaws, though: minor details that didn't fit, because our two minds weren't in perfect sync. I looked at the wastebasket by my desk. The plastic bags from our shopping trip were there. It was a little detail: small enough that Dulka would probably have forgotten about it. The little divot in the carpet where I'd dropped my pocket knife when I was cutting tags was still there. Again, a tiny detail, something I remembered that the boss might have forgotten. My pulse started to slow, and I realized Mom had just asked me something.

“What?” I asked her.

“Is there anything you need?”

“He can have my old night light,” Dee said from the door. She looked almost as scared as I did. “I'm not scared of the dark anymore.” She didn't sound as confident as she was trying to.

“I'm good,” I told them. “Just a bad dream, really.”

“I'll make you a dream sachet. Some lavender, vervain, lemon grass, and St John's wort, for restful sleep.” She left and shooed Dee out with her. A couple of minutes later, she came back in with a little bundle of cloth in her hand. She tucked it under my pillow and kissed me on the cheek. “Sweet dreams, honey.”

When I lay back down, the panic started all over again. Sweet dreams. I wished. I felt like I was being smothered. The bed sucked me in, the pillow wrapped up around my face, and the blanket was like a lead weight on my shoulders as I lay there trying to sleep. Everything was too…
soft
. The pillow tilted my neck to a weird angle, and I was sweating from the bedclothes that draped over me like a shroud. I turned on my side, and it helped my neck, but my arm kept flopping off the bed, and I felt like I was falling then. I tried the other way, but with my back to the door, I was too exposed, and I kept looking over my shoulder, waiting for Dulka to slip in and kick me from behind. The blanket ended up on the floor first, then the pillow, but the mattress still felt like it was trying to swallow me. Was I going to have to go for two days at a time without sleep? That had to have been the reason I'd been able to fall asleep the first time.

Meditation seemed to help me get drowsy, but I jerked awake when I heard a noise in the hallway. My heart was thumping like a drum in my chest, and I couldn't breathe. This wasn't working.

Quietly, with my gut feeling like I had just eaten a bowl full of hot coals, I slipped out of bed, grabbed my sheet and crawled under my desk. As I lay on the floor, the silent sobs welled up, and I hated myself for my weakness. For eight years, I had slept on the floor, and I didn’t know how to sleep in a bed any more. Even after I was free, Dulka was still screwing my life up. He was invading my mom’s home like a plague, and I hated myself for letting him win. I kicked my own ass over it for what seemed like forever, but then, somewhere along the way, the familiar took over, and I fell asleep.

By the time ten o'clock rolled around on Sunday night, I figured I was tired enough to at least try sleeping
next
to the bed. My arms and legs were still carrying a grudge from Friday night, and helping Mom in her garden hadn't made them any happier with me. She'd called it dirt therapy, and it had felt pretty good, but now my body hated me for it. I snagged the sheet and curled up with my back to the bed, and waited for the panic attack to come. After a few minutes, I figured I'd either out-waited it, or it was laying in ambush for me once I nodded off.